Riders of B E R K

Part 1: The man in the alley

I heard the footsteps first, the uneven sounds of a limp. It sounded far enough away to make a break if the owner came close. Then I hefted my backpack on my shoulders: who was I kidding? No one hanging around here in the dark could have any benign intent. And I was alone in the dark winter evening on my way back to my apartment.

I tensed, my fists balling. It was reasonably well lit between the converted warehouses at the old docks but most of the units weren't taken yet: it was what they call an 'up and coming' area. But that means not so many people to come if I screamed blue murder. And the few alleys were deep in darkness and sinister-even for someone with my combat skills and solid martial arts training.

The limp came closer and it sounded bad. The owner was really struggling, the irregularity of the steps striking. Part of me was curious: what had caused the limp? My mind automatically flicked down the possibilities and I had to blink to pull myself back to the present: there were more important things to consider. I jumped back and peered into the shadowed passage. There was someone there, a single figure moving unsteadily. Great. A drunk or a junkie: just what I need! Not that I had much worth mugging on me: I had come from my shift via the gym and had only my purse with a couple of low-limit cards and a handful of coins for a coffee. And I hardly looked affluent: I was sweaty and dishevelled in grey sweat pants, sky blue hoodie and trainers. Not a designer label or top end accessory in sight! I had headed home for my shower and wished now I had taken it there-maybe I could have missed this person.

He stumbled forward, almost into the light and I could make him out. Tall and skinny were the first impressions, with messy brown or dark auburn hair and a very lopsided gait. He saw me and paused, then recoiled a step: he seemed alarmed to see me. I felt a little more confident and took a pace towards him. He backed off another pace and I could see his face in a chink of light: he was young, my age I guess and he looked...scared? I came closer.

"Who are you?" I asked him bluntly. "What are you doing here?" He cringed away.

"N-nothing," he murmured and his voice was definitely scared. He backed off and his left leg gave way, pitching him sideways into the wall. It was almost in slow motion, his lanky shape jerking sideways, his head hitting the wall with a dull thud, his skinny shape folding and sliding down to land in a crumpled heap on the floor. He gave a groan that deteriorated into a harsh cough. I turned and backed away. Definitely a junkie, I thought as I turned towards my apartment. I would call the security patrol and they could pick him up and move him along-or whatever they did to vagrants. And then he coughed again.

I stopped, my shoulders tensing. This was wrong. This man had fallen, hit his head and seemed to have a nasty cough. Whether he had an alcohol or substance misuse problem, I owed him at least a check to make sure he hadn't done himself some serious harm-a concussion or worse-when he collapsed. With a sigh, I turned round and walked back towards him.

He was blinking, his expression puzzled, as if he couldn't recall how he ended on the ground. I approached slowly because I still wasn't sure if he would try to do me any harm. He could be concussed, withdrawing, having the DTs...anything. He just tried to make himself look smaller and he looked scared to death. I could see him clearly now and his hair was a very dark auburn, his face was pale with a little scattering of freckles over the skin and bright emerald eyes. Too bright, in fact. His skin was flushed over the cheeks and he looked unwell and was breathing fast. I crouched down.